


behind your secrets and all of your sins

by cursedwurm



Series: regarding jonah magnus and his associates [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical gay regency era drama, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Gaslighting, Healthy Relationships, Love Confessions, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships, sorta - Freeform, there's a bit of both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedwurm/pseuds/cursedwurm
Summary: Elias rolls his eyes, thinking it best not to answer. He instead flicks through his copy of the leaflet, making the conscious decision to read it with his own eyes. The first page is a map of the museum, and the second contains white text laid over a self-portrait of Benjamin, painted sometime between their final meeting and his death in 1857.“... While his later life saw Earnest’s name become well-known in Victorian society, many of his works, along with his life, from the early 19th century have become something of a mystery- until now,” the leaflet proudly proclaims,  “With the help of both his family and the family of Barnabas Bennett - a recurring character in Earnest’s earlier life and many of his paintings - the National Gallery are ecstatic to present these works, alongside long-lost letters and writings, that document the fascinating social circle that the painter became entangled with.” The words make Elias sick to his stomach.--In an art gallery, Elias comes face-to-face with people from his past and is forced to confront his own feelings - both in the past and the present.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Jonah Magnus/Original Male Character(s)
Series: regarding jonah magnus and his associates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794436
Comments: 41
Kudos: 173





	1. I hear the sound of your name

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in like. four days. this is the most productive I've been in months. I split it into two parts because I though nearly 13k words was a bit much for one chapter. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> -Violence  
> -Gaslighting  
> -Unhealthy relationships (mostly with the of, but a bit with lonelyeyes too) + power imbalances  
> -Worhsipping? idk how to put it but if ur weird about religious stuff maybe don't read this  
> \- Jonah magnus is trans and i talk about his genitals a few times with 'feminine' terms.
> 
> Please leave comments + kudos if u liked it!! u can hmu on Tumblr too (@snapdraqons)
> 
> fic+chapter titles are from 'You' by Greta Isaac

The London sky is grey and dark, the cold February drizzle hitting the windows pathetically. Elias walks beside Peter, the invisible wall that usually lies between them gone. It isn’t often that the two of them go on dates. They’re both usually far too busy to go out together - and it certainly doesn’t help that Peter’s idea of busy is being somewhere in the middle of the ocean. Plus, between their long periods of radio silence, passionate fighting and equally passionate getting-back-together (read: sex) there isn’t much room for anything… normal. So when Peter had asked him if he’d wanted to see a new exhibition that had opened in the National Gallery, it had taken him by surprise. What had been even more surprising, perhaps, was the fact that his newly-ex-husband had insisted that he make no attempt to Know what it was, that it was a secret. Elias knows he can’t trust Peter, but this… well, it had seemed insignificant enough last night, and he’d been feeling particularly generous after his ex-husband’s _performance earlier_ that evening. However, what little trust he has in him starts to waver as they approach the entrance and a familiar pair of green eyes looks down at them from the poster by the door.

The eyes are his, immortalised on canvas in emerald green oil paint. His lips are painted rose pink, quirked upwards into a small, almost mischievous smile and his gloved fingers are wrapped around the stem of a crystal wine glass, the contents of which are painted a dark, blood red. The full painting hasn’t been printed, but Elias remembers it clearly, remembers having to stand like that for a good five hours just for his portrait to be completed. Underneath the image of himself, the poster bears the exhibition’s title: _“Upper Echelon: the Lost Works of Benjamin Earnest”_

Elias remembers Benjamin. He remembers his then-unrecognised artistic talents, his shockingly cheap prices, his lips pressed to his neck as he fell at the knees of Jonah Magnus. He remembers being one of many men he’d engaged in affairs with in the early 19th century, and one of the few he’d ever uttered the phrase ‘I love you’ to. Of course, he hadn’t meant it, but for nearly fifteen years it had been enough to keep Benjamin at his side, immortalising his image and worshipping his being like a disciple would a god. Elias inhales slowly, composing himself before looking up at Peter.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” he asks. Peter just laughs.

“No,” he says, “I genuinely thought you’d be interested. These paintings haven’t been seen in nearly a hundred and fifty years, after all.” At this, Elias Looks into his ex-husband’s head, finding neither honesty nor dishonesty to his words. He’s unsure what he would have preferred but he makes the conscious decision to trust Peter, squeezing his fingers in his own just hard enough for it to be a threat.

They pay for their tickets, the queue mercifully short (apparently a rarity; Peter had read some incredible reviews and had expected it to be far busier) and they’re each handed a leaflet as they’re guided towards the exhibition rooms on the second floor. The leaflet is emerald green in colour, the same portrait from the poster outside printed on the front. Peter looks down at his copy and laughs, his other hand still holding Elias’. “You were quite the looker back in the day, weren’t you?” he jokes. Elias rolls his eyes, thinking it best not to answer. He instead flicks through his copy of the leaflet, making the conscious decision to read it with his own eyes. The first page is a map of the museum, and the second contains white text laid over a self-portrait of Benjamin, painted sometime between their final meeting and his death in 1857. 

_“... While his later life saw Earnest’s name become well-known in Victorian society, many of his works, along with his life, from the early 19th century have become something of a mystery- until now,”_ the leaflet proudly proclaims, _“With the help of both his family and the family of Barnabas Bennett - a recurring character in Earnest’s earlier life and many of his paintings - the National Gallery are ecstatic to present these works, alongside long-lost letters and writings, that document the fascinating social circle that the painter became entangled with.”_ The words make Elias sick to his stomach. He looks at Peter, who doesn’t seem to notice his annoyance. Either that or he just doesn’t care.

The first painting as they enter the exhibition is the same one printed on the front of the poster outside and the leaflet in Elias’ hand. It’s dated from 1812, six years before the Magnus Institute had been founded, and Elias stares up at his former body, its pale skin framed with warm auburn hair from under which it watches the museum’s visitors with narrow, dark green eyes. He had been handsome back then, he thinks to himself, deceptively so. The short paragraph underneath the painting isn’t worth reading; Elias doesn’t need to be told who he is. His eyes are drawn to the broach sat neatly on his picture’s cravat: a small golden eye encrusted with green tourmaline that’s currently laying atop his dresser in his bedroom. It had been a gift, he remembers, from a lover. Which one he can’t quite remember - perhaps that’s why he doesn’t wear it all that often.

He lets go of Peter’s hand as he makes his way further into the exhibition, thankful for the lack of visitors as he approaches the next group of paintings.

\--

Jonah initially met Benjamin Earnest at a social gathering masquerading as a private art exhibition in 1811, where he’d been gaining connections for the funding of his institute. It was a slow night. Most guests, while certainly rich enough, had little interest in handing over their money to something that would not profit them, apparently preferring the visual arts to the knowledge his research could provide them with. In fact, he was considering leaving (perhaps he could pay Barnabas a visit on his way home) when a man caught his eye, standing somewhat nervously across the room from him. Aside from being significantly younger than the other guests, there was nothing that initially stood out about him. However, to the trained eye, it was obvious that he was out of place; his clothes looked cheap, perhaps second hand, as the sleeves of his jacket pulled a little too tightly over his arms to be a custom fit. He didn’t seem to know anyone there, either, and stood by an immaculately-painted recreation of the infamous balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, as if standing guard over it. It was no sooner than Jonah spotted him that the two of them locked eyes and, like a moth drawn to a flame, the young man approached him.

He introduced himself as Benjamin Earnest, explained that he was an artist hoping to sell his work and earn a name for himself at this event. Jonah simply smiled, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and he watched as Benjamin’s gazed flicked up and down his body, drinking him in as if he were some great masterpiece. 

At that point, it had been several years since Jonah had been intimate with a complete stranger. He had a close circle already, the members of which had almost all been a partner of his at some point or another. It was a welcome change, refreshing even, to spend the night with someone so unaware of who he was, to have someone touch him and serve him without needing any sort of relationship prior. It was good too; Benjamin pushed him over a table in a guest bedroom that neither was staying in and Jonah basked in the heat of his body, drinking in the praise and worship that spilt from his lips. Once he’d ensured that Jonah had finished the two of them kissed, hot and languid, and by the end of that week the painting had been paid for and sat proudly in the home of Barnabas Bennett, accompanied by a bottle of wine from his beloved.

\--

The painting of Romeo and Juliet is one of the last of Earnest’s earliest works, and it sits on the wall of the National Gallery surrounded by others of similar subjects. This one in particular has the words “ _Donated by the Bennett family”_ printed at the top of the caption, alongside an excerpt from a letter Elias had sent alongside the gift. 

_‘... my dearest Barnabas,’_ the excerpt says, _‘I hope you can forgive my lack of correspondence these last few weeks, and I hope this gift shall make up for it. I would not want to keep my beloved in the dark, but I feel that the details of my recent plights may bore you and I would not wish that upon you. I shall, however, tell you of my meeting with a young man named Benjamin Earnest, whom I bought this painting from and plan to commission in the future. He is an incredibly talented artist, and rather good with his hands as well. I should think you would like to meet him someday.”_

The excerpt ends there, but Elias smiles fondly as he remembers writing it, pouring out his affection for Barnabas and pressing a kiss to the envelope before sealing it shut. He looks up to see Peter is on the other side of the room, unsurprisingly lost in a landscape of empty, rolling waves that had been one of Earnest’s first works around 1805. He moves on by himself, figuring his ex-husband would rather be left to his own devices.

The main section of the exhibition starts where the first had left off: in 1811, with the start of Earnest’s fascination and relationship with Jonah Magnus. It starts with a large, magnificent painting supposedly of Hades, surrounded by skulls and skeletal arms that reach out and grab at the hem of his tunic. Hades, of course, is painted in the image of Jonah Magnus, tall and slender with emerald eyes and long auburn hair tied neatly out of his face. Blood drips from his fingertips and the same crimson hue is smeared across his lips, twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. Elias can’t help but smile to himself; even without being aware of who he was, Benjamin Earnest had painted him as a god, indirectly worshipping him through his art. The caption underneath doesn’t say this, instead choosing to describe the late Jonah Magnus as _“Earnest’s muse who, according to letters present throughout this exhibition, may have also been his lover”._ The use of the word ‘may’ makes Elias snort and roll his eyes. He can only assume that the more… scandalous letters he’d sent to his male acquaintances had not been shared with the museum.

There are a number of similar paintings, many of which Elias never got to see in person. Most of them portray his original body as a god or king, with some sketches even presenting him as a Christ-like figure. Blasphemous, yes, but incredibly satisfying. Benjamin Earnest had never once been involved in his work, with the founding of the Magnus Institute or The Beholding and yet he gave himself to Jonah like a sacrificial lamb, loving him so wholly, so overwhelmingly, to the point of an almost-religious reverence. If Elias focuses he can still feel the painter’s breath on his ear, his hands on his body exalting him so sweetly, so desperately, like a servant to his king.

\--

“You wanted to speak to me, Barnabas?” Jonah asked, sitting on the chaise longue in his bedroom as the door closes behind his lover, “Or was there something else you wanted from me?”

“Not tonight,” Barnabas tucked a loose strand of his dark hair behind an ear, leaning against the dresser opposite Jonah, “I… It’s about the artist.” Jonah raised an eyebrow at this, getting to his feet and approaching him. He rested a hand on his hip, the other cupping his chin, tilting his head up so their gazes met. 

“My dear Barnabas,” he said, “You’re not… jealous, are you?”

“... Perhaps a little.”  
Jonah leaned forwards and closed the gap between their lips, kissing him gently and sweetly, so unlike the hot and hungry kisses he’d pressed to Benjamin Earnest’s neck not two hours earlier. Barnabas’ arms wrapped around him, returning the kiss before pulling away and resting his forehead on his lover’s. “Barnabas, I-”  
“Be quiet, Jonah, for once in your life,” the words were spoken softly, but Barnabas’ voice held a certain dominance that Jonah could only obey, “And listen to me. You’ve seen his paintings, haven’t you? The way he paints you, the way he _sees_ you, it is… It worries me, Jonah.”

“There is nothing to worry about-”  
“ _Jonah_ .” he cut him off with a glare, though there was no malice in his tone, “Perhaps… Perhaps I am jealous, darling. But that’s only because I love you. I love you so completely, so genuinely, so _much._ If I could I would ask you to elope, to spend the rest of your days with me, to wake up in my bed every morning and to fall asleep in it every night. He… Benjamin… doesn’t love you in that way, Jonah. None of them do. You know that as much as I.”

Jonah, for perhaps the first time in his life, was genuinely speechless. He knew that Barnabas’ feelings for him were strong, though he never expected this. He remained silent, but his lips curled into a small smile and before his brain could properly process what he was doing their lips were reconnected and he was kissing Barnabas once again. He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, kissing up against the dresser in his bedroom. He was sure, however, of how he felt when he pulled away and watched as his lover’s eyes fluttered open, warm brown eyes meeting green. “I love you too, Barnabas,” he finally whispered, “If I could stay with you forever, I would. Not many men get to hear that from me.”

Later that evening, Jonah Magnus reappeared in the drawing room with messy hair, ruddy cheeks and Barnabas Bennett in tow. No-one paid either men much attention, save for Mordechai Lukas who, for the second time that night, gave Jonah a knowing glare and gestured for him to cover up the fresh bruise that blossomed against the pale skin of his jugular. 

\--

Elias’ lips are set in a thin line as he stares up at the painting in front of him. It’s entitled _‘Upper Echelon’_ (presumably the source of the exhibition’s name) and is dated from 1814. The painting itself is a scene from his drawing room: Jonah Magnus is seated on a sofa in the centre of the room, surrounded by his guests, the glow from the fireplace behind him illuminating him like a halo of light. Benjamin is standing directly behind him, a glass of wine in hand and a warm, devoted smile on his face. On the floor in front of him, Barnabas Bennett sits with his back against his leg, cheeks ruddy from drink and eyes wide and desperate. It’s a crude, unfair portrayal of Bennett, and Elias feels anger bubbling up inside of him, an anger that only increases when he looks closer at the painting and notices the bruises painted on Barnabas’ neck and jaw. The caption of the picture is accompanied by a letter, written to Earnest from Barnabas himself. 

“ _Benjamin Earnest,_ _  
_ _I hope this letter finds you in good health._ _  
_ _I understand that you have become involved with Jonah Magnus in recent years, though the exact nature of your involvement is one I am yet to discover. I would like to make myself clear before anything else is said: despite my own feelings for Jonah (which are requited), I take no issue towards your involvement in his life. More specifically, it is the nature of your art lately that has become somewhat concerning, and while I have confronted Jonah about this, I should think he has yet to say anything to you._ _  
_ _I know that you are unaware of Jonah’s current project. The organisation he plans to start has nothing to do with art, nor is it related to your relationship with him. I wish I could explain to you the exacts of my beloved’s plans, but if he wanted you to know, I believe Jonah would have already told you. All I can tell you for now is that your feelings for him are unhealthy and unnatural. Your idolisation of him is extremely apparent in your art and I fear that, in time, it may consume you. At the risk of sounding jealous, I ask you to cease your relationship with him immediately. This is not just for your sake, but for Jonah’s as well, and I believe that if you truly loved him, you would heed my warning and forget you ever made contact with him._

_Please do not respond to this letter. I have said all that I need to._

_Yours,_

_Barnabas Bennett.”_

Elias can’t help but laugh at the letter; he’d always been aware of the animosity that Barnabas had held towards Benjamin Earnest, even before he became a servant of The Beholding, but seeing it written out in paper is funnier than he’d expected. He finds himself reaching forwards and resting his hand on the glass casing over the letter, his finger tracing the familiar curves of Barnabas’ handwriting. If he focuses, he can hear Barnabas’ voice, cold and firm, reading the words on the faded paper in front of him. Barnabas very rarely got angry - he’d always been the passive type - but when he did… 

Elias still thinks about it. He still imagines spending a night with Barnabas Bennett, even when he’s in the arms of his (for now) ex-husband. It’s sad, but he sees no point in denying it, at least not to himself.

According to the caption under the painting and the letter, Barnabas Bennett had sent this letter (supposedly among others) to Benjamin Earnest partially in response to his negative portrayal in the artist’s work and partially out of jealousy. The caption, of course, makes no mention of how Barnabas seemed to believe Earnest’s relationship with and art of Jonah Magnus would encourage him to dig deeper into Smirke’s Fourteen and The Beholding, but how could it? All the historians and curators saw was the petty - if somewhat scandalous - love affair between an artist, his muse and his muse’s lover. 

According to the text that sits on a sign hanging on the museum wall, the late 1810s and early 1820s would be Earnest’s most active years in his entire career as an artist. This was, of course, the time that the Magnus Institute would finally be founded and the museum makes a passing mention of that before going straight into what is, according to them, some of Benjamin Earnest’s most dramatic work. On the wall in front of Elias is a painting of Jonah Magnus, reaching almost to the ceiling. He sits on a throne, one leg crossed over the other, holding a bloody sceptre in one hand and a cracked golden orb in the other. His lips are twisted into a sick, almost sadistic smirk and there’s a pool of blood at his feet, staining the bottom of his boots a crimson red. This, like many others in the exhibition, had not been a commissioned painting and simply from Looking at it, Elias Knows that Earnest had painted it as a labour of love, a proclamation of his adoration and faith in the man he’d fallen so disturbingly in love with. Elias would even go as far to say he likes the painting, if it weren’t for the angel and the demon stood behind the throne. It’s a tad on the nose for his liking, but it isn’t the overdramatic symbolism that annoys him- rather, it's the fact that the angel, in the form of Earnest himself, rests a hand on his shoulder in encouragement (or maybe comfort) and the demon, in the bloody, sickly-looking form of Barnabas Bennett, holds a hand to his throat and whispers cruel encouragements in his ear. 

This is the first time Elias has seen the painting, entitled ‘ _Thy Kingdom Come_ ’, and according to the caption, it had never left the Earnest family until now. “I wonder why…” he mutters, unable to help the bitter anger that seeps into the words. He takes one last look at _‘Thy Kingdom Come’,_ at the way his beloved’s hand wraps around his throat, before averting his gaze to the next painting.

\--

It was August 1816 when Jonah told Benjamin Earnest he loved him, two years after he had first said it to Barnabas Bennett. He’d commissioned another portrait of him, and he’d spent the last four hours or so standing in place for him, sweltering in the summer heat. The moment the painting was complete, Benjamin sent for someone to bring up food and water, as well as a change of clothes that would be more comfortable for Jonah in the current climate.

The moment the room was empty, Jonah was kissing him, letting Benjamin push him down onto the nearest table and start undressing him. His name spilled over his lips like a prayer, soft and breathless, as his lips trailed over his skin, kissing and sucking and biting in all the places he knew Jonah was sensitive. The cold of the wet paint on Benjamin’s fingertips made him gasp, trailing lines of emerald green and bloody red over his skin as he leaned over, biting his ear and muttering his praises.

“I need you, Jonah,” he whispered, “I need you and I love you and I don’t know if I can live without you.”

His hands moved to undo his trousers, paying no mind to the paint on them that would almost certainly stain the garment, and Jonah basked in the words, whining softly as his trousers fell from his hips and hit the floor.

“I love you too,” he said, low and breathy in the artist’s ear, “I love you, darling, I- _ahh_ …” He cut himself off with a sigh as he felt his fingers slide over him, warm and pleasantly calloused between his thighs. There was a familiar sensation of want growing in his stomach, and by now he knew whatever he wanted Benjamin to do to him, he’d oblige. He whined as he stroked his clit, already slick and wet with his arousal, moving his hands to grip a fistful of chestnut brown hair. He rolled his hips forwards into his hands, tilting his head to the side to give him better access to his neck. 

“I’m never going to leave you Jonah,” the painter whispered against his skin, “I’ll do anything you want, love, just tell me what you want from me and I’ll-”

“ _Benjamin,_ ” Jonah hissed out his name; he hadn’t intended it to be quite so firm but Benjamin looked up anyway, his fingers still pressed to his cunt.

“Yes, love?”

“I want to hear you say it. Say how much you love me.”  
Benjamin’s eyes grew wide for a moment and Jonah watched as a light dusting of pink spread across his cheeks. He bit his lip, before slipping a finger inside of him and pressing his lips to the shell of his ear. “Jonah…” he says, “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met…” The words made Jonah spread his legs and groan his name, eyes fluttering closed as he listened to the artist’s praise. “Before I met you I used to paint for others… my art was just what I thought others would want, what I thought would bring me money and fame…” He pressed rough, open-mouthed kisses to Jonah’s jaw, pushing another finger inside him, “...But I don’t need that anymore. I don’t need money, love. I don’t need anyone’s recognition but yours.” It felt so, so good. Benjamin whispered his praises like a prayer, like he was speaking to his god and his god was speaking back, clutching his hair as it clenched around his fingers.

From there, the only thing either of them could say was each-other's names, hot and needy and breathy against the other’s skin. The sex was much the same as usual; Jonah came with a cry of Benjamin's name and Benjamin did the same humming soft ‘I love you’s’ into the crook of his neck. They stayed there for a while, sweaty and tangled together as they basked in the warmth radiating from one another’s skin. Then, after the painter pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, Jonah told him to help clean him up before packing away his equipment and leaving. Twenty minutes later, the only proof Benjamin had ever been there was the paint under Jonah’s nails and the portrait he had left behind.

\--

It isn’t the portrait Earnest had done that day that hangs on the wall in front of Elias, but rather a depiction of a lush green garden, the plants bearing silver-tipped leaves, soft pink flowers and golden fruit. In the middle of the garden lies a man, naked and sprawled out somewhat sensually over the vegetation. The man has a striking resemblance to the painter, though Elias can't help but notice how the softness of his jaw and warm brown of his eyes bears far more resemblance to Barnabas Bennett's, rather than the painter's own. The man in the painting is, of course, accompanied by Jonah Magnus, in the form of an angel, kneeling over the man with a hand cupping his chin. There's a definite erotic undertone to the painting, simply entitled ' _Eden_ ', and Elias isn't sure whether it makes him pleased or just downright uncomfortable.

Elias knows he had never been in love with Benjamin Earnest. He'd loved the attention, yes, loved how the painter revered him as a god-like figure, both in his artwork and his bedroom. But love is a strong word and an even stronger emotion, one he's only truly felt a few times in his life. The love he feels for Peter Lukas is one of them. The burning, white-hot desire for him that exists far beyond the extent of simple sexual want is love; the way Elias fights with him and always, no matter what, ends up in his arms again, is love too. The way Peter Lukas kisses him and the way he kisses him back is love and the way he feels when Peter leaves for months on end… that is also, unfortunately, love. 

He'd never felt any of that with Benjamin Earnest, never missed him when he left, never cared all that much for any of his attributes other than his artistic talents and his touch. He is, of course, aware that the artist had loved him- even if it weren't evident in his paintings Elias only needs to Look at the letters on display to know the terrifying, all-consuming extent of Earnest's love for Jonah Magnus. He's not the only person to have fallen for him in this way. But he's certainly the only one that, as far as he's aware, managed to escape it.

There are several commissioned paintings hanging along the walls, of noblemen and women Jonah had put Earnest in contact with as a way to keep him busy while he made the final preparations for his Institute. Elias doesn’t care all that much for them; they are, of course, incredible paintings, but he quite frankly can’t find in himself to show any interest in the practically-identical images. There’s no passion in them, none of the frantic love and adoration that had been poured into the images of his muse and certainly none of the ugly, jealous hatred that had so clearly gone into the images of Barnabas Bennett. He moves on from them without so much of a glance at the captions underneath them.

The next painting, however, does catch Elias’ eye. It isn’t one he’d had commissioned - according to the caption it had been a personal project, similar to _‘Eden’_ and _‘Thy Kingdom Come_ ’ and for a second Elias feels a pit in his stomach, like he’s just been pushed into the Vast and is hurtling towards the ground. It’s another large floor-to ceiling painting, untitled, dated some time between 1815 and 1817. Jonah Magnus is stood between two men, dressed in a fine emerald green suit and white gloves that are soaked red. The men are indistinguishable from each-other; at first glance he’d think they were both supposed to be Benjamin Earnest himself but the more he looks at them, the more Elias sees the soft, kinda features of Barnabas Bennett. The men hold Jonah, one pressing his lips to his bloodied knuckles and the other kissing the corner of his mouth. Even when Elias Looks at it, he can’t tell which figure is meant to be whose and the unease he feels is… uncomfortable to say the least. There’s a letter underneath it, apparently unsent, addressed to Jonah Magnus. 

_“My love,”_ it says,  
“ _I cannot stress enough how deeply my feelings of adoration and devotion for you run. I spend nearly all my waking hours thinking of you, of your embrace and of what we shall do when we next meet. It is crude, but I long for you in ways that I have never longed for anyone else. Which is why I am not sure how much longer I can take this._

_Every moment I do not spend with you is a moment I spend in pain, Jonah. It is not often that I meet with your so-called ‘beloved’-”_

Elias wrinkles his nose at the phrasing, needing no omniscience no know that Earnest is talking about Barnabas. He frowns, continuing to read.

_“- but when I do I cannot help but fear for you, and for the sacrament of our relationship. I need you to understand, love, that I do not believe Mr. Bennett is who he says he is. Specifically, I do not believe him to be human, at least not in the sense of the word that you or I comprehend. You know him far better than I do, yet I cannot help but suspect that he is a stranger to you, and will continue to be so until you remove him from your life._

_Before I met you, Jonah, I had been questioning my faith in our Lord, but I believe I have found him again in you. I do not know what I would do if I were to lose you, my love. You are my everything, and I am scared for the both of us._

_Please visit me soon._ __  
_Forever your faithful servant,_   
Benjamin.”

Elias reads the letter a second time, before calling upon the powers of the Beholding to Look at it properly. Much like the painting, he cannot tell what had been the intention behind the unsent letter and he’s suddenly incredibly aware of the phrasing Earnest had used to describe Barnabas Bennett: ‘ _I cannot help but suspect that he is a stranger to you’._

Benjamin Earnest had never been involved in the founding of the Magnus Institute, nor had he any awareness of the entities… yet somehow…

The sudden presence of Peter Lukas draws him out of his thoughts and he sighs, burying his hands in his pockets. "Peter," he says, "Does this sound like the Stranger to you?"

Peter looks up at the painting before scanning over the paper encased in the glass beneath it. "It does… I presume this is in reference to _your_ Barnabas Bennett?" he asks, and Elias can hear him smiling without even looking at him.

"Yes, it is," he answers simply, "But Barnabas wasn't… when he eventually fell, it was to your lot. Not the Stranger."

"So what are you suggesting?" Peter rests a hand on his shoulder, not quite gently enough to be comforting, "That Benjamin was a part of the Stranger?"

"And was somehow unaware of it?" Elias narrows his eyes, "It's not impossible, but it's certainly… strange."

"Could be imposter syndrome," Peter adds with a shrug, "Or did your patron tell you otherwise?" The chuckle he lets out makes Elias stiffen, and he pushes his ex-husband's hand away from his shoulder. 

"Benjamin Earnest was… perfectly healthy," he says, "His death in 1857 was a result of pneumonia, but prior to that he had no complications regarding his health, physical or otherwise. If he was a part of the Stranger he was either aware and trying to throw others off the scent or…”

“Or he didn’t know and projected onto Barnabas instead?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Peter sighs, taking another look at the untitled painting in front of them. “Well at least you aren’t naked in this one,” he says with a small smile, “I’ll… leave you to it.”

“Peter, I-” Elias starts, but his ex-husband is gone before he can finish. Typical.


	2. Stuck on a loop in my brain

It wasn’t often that Jonah got long periods of time alone with Barnabas. Between organising his institute, researching the Smirke’s entities and partaking in the regular social duties of someone of his status, his free time lately was spent taking care of his basic needs and his all-too-human desires. The chance to spend even an afternoon with his lover was rare, let alone a whole weekend. And yet, here he lay, with his head in his lap overlooking the gardens of his estate. The sun was setting over the horizon, bathing Barnabas in a warm orange glow as he read his book (A translation of Voltaire’s ‘Candide’) and ran his fingers through Jonah’s hair. 

He was, without a doubt, in love. He didn’t need to tell Barnabas (though he often chose to anyway) and whenever he felt the pull of the great power that seemed to be calling to him, he could always turn to him for support, for an anchor to the sane and mundane. Their relationship was the only one Jonah had ever truly treasured and if something were to happen to him…

Jonah didn’t want to think about that.

He lifted a hand to cup Barnabas’ face, gently stroking his cheek with his thumb. His lover’s eyes moved from his book down to meet his, his soft pink mouth curling into a gentle smile. 

“Is everything ok, Jonah?” he asked. Jonah let out a long sigh, sitting up and pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“Of course,” he said, “I’m just… rather tired, I suppose.”

Barnabas nodded understandingly, marking his page in his book and putting it down. He took the hand on his face into his own; his skin was warm and soft, save for the small calluses on the sides of his fingers from holding his pen. His lips brushed over Jonah’s knuckles as he spoke softly, his dark brown hair framing his face as if it were a painting. “We can retire early if you like,” he suggested, “It’s getting rather late anyway-”

“No, Barnabas,” Jonah told him, “I am tired but… well, I guess it’s more of a mental exhaustion rather than a physical one. The institute, the research, it can all be…”   
“A bit much?”   
“Mhm.”

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes as they closed the gap between them and kissed, their lips fitting together with practised ease, like a key slotting into a lock. The kiss felt so natural, so… right to Jonah, as did the hand resting on his waist that pulled him into his partner’s lap. Whenever the two of them were together like this he felt rejuvenated, alive in a way he didn’t feel with others; while Jonah hardly  _ disliked  _ having to sneak off from social gatherings to have sex, this was always much prefered. He could take his time when they were alone, bask in the warmth of Barnabas’ touch and savour the kisses he pressed into his skin. When they finally pulled away his lover was blushing, a sight that Jonah relished in whenever he could.

“Jonah, darling?”

“Yes?”

“I take it now isn’t the right time for a serious conversation?”

Jonah couldn’t help but smile as Barnabas tucked his hair behind his ear, tracking the line of his jaw as he pulled his hand away. “That depends,” he purred, “How many times do you plan on making me come tonight?”

Barnabas laughed at this, rolling his eyes as Jonah leaned in a bit his ear in both a playful tease and a clear indication of his intentions later that evening. “You  _ harlot _ ,” he muttered, carding his fingers through his hair, “If you’re honest with me, I’ll give you as much as you can handle.”

“Then we have a deal.” Jonah shifted from Barnabas’ lap, resting his head on his shoulder as he sat beside him. His lover seemed to hesitate, and it was in the moment of hesitation that he somehow knew exactly what he was about to be asked. His smile faded and his lips became set in a grim line as he let out a defeated sigh. “This is about the painter, isn’t it?”

For a brief second, he felt Barnabas tense up, before he relaxed and nodded. “It is,” he says, “Benjamin Earnest… he is…”

“Strange?”

“In love with you. To a disturbing degree.”

Jonah rested a hand on his knee, a gentle, affectionate touch that he made no move to push away. “I know you don’t like how he portrays me in his art, but-”

“It isn’t just about you, Jonah,” Barnabas cut him off, “I’ve had the displeasure of seeing some of his most recent work when he displayed it at a dinner party last week. The way he draws himself is… confusing. I looked at the painting and couldn’t tell who was meant to be by your side. It’s like… he drew himself as me. Or perhaps drew me as himself. It’s admittedly quite hard to explain.”

“Oh…” Jonah sat up straight, the apathy he’d originally felt towards the conversation turning into concern, “May I ask what the paintings were of?”

“You,” Barnabas said, “As a sort of god or a king, he’s no longer even trying to hide it.” He let out a chuckle, though the anger seeped through anyway, bleeding into his words like venom. “And you’re always…  _ dominating  _ me-  _ it  _ in some sense of the word - not always sexually, of course. You’re just always in some sort of position of power over… over whatever the amalgamation of mine and his image is supposed to be. I hate to admit it but… it scares me, Jonah. When I looked at that painting I was just filled with the most unnatural sense of dread.” Barnabas’ skin paled as he spoke, his pupils dilated and his eyes wide. Jonah frowned, resting a hand on his cheek and tilting his face to meet his gaze. 

“My dear Barnabas,” he said, “Are you feeling quite alright?”

His lover hesitated before nodding. “I am fine, darling,” he told him, “I think it has just… shaken me to recount this to you. I don’t like keeping secrets from you at the best of times, and in situations like this…” His voice trailed off and Jonah watched him as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Jonah,” he whispered, and Jonah didn’t hesitate to whisper it back.

Barnabas took him to bed that night, but not before having him over half the flat surfaces in his bedroom, body hot and sweaty against his own. It was rough and fast and the words that his lover groaned into the crook of his neck were filthy enough to make even Jonah squirm. The way Barnabas touched him, pinned him down to the bed and bruised his thighs in his grasp was nothing like the borderline worship he received from Benjamin Earnest just over a fortnight ago, and yet there was somehow more real, genuine love in the wrapping of his lover’s fingers around his neck and the degrading language Barnabas spat at him than in anything the painter had ever done. 

\--

The painting Elias is looking at can only be one of the ones Barnabas had seen at that dinner party. It’s entitled _‘The Monarch’_ , is dated from the late 1810s and once again, Jonah Magnus has been painted as a king, surrounded by grabbing hands reaching for the hem of his clothes. He’s leaning down, looking at a kneeling subject whose eyes are filled with tears and arms are a torn, bloodied mess. The subject begs, reaching for a cruel unforgiving monarch who refuses to help, and takes the form of both Benjamin Earnest and Barnabas Bennett, while somehow looking nothing like either of them. Elias Looks as hard as he can at the painting but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t find any answers. He feels sick to his stomach, no doubt feeding the wretched entity with the unease the picture causes. “ _Quintessential_ S _tranger_ ,” he thinks, “ _Always hated those bastards.”_

He looks down at the leaflet in his hand, which has been crumpled in his fist since he last read it, and flicks to an image of Barnabas Bennett - in the form of the demon from  _ ‘Thy Kingdom Come’ _ and holds it up to compare it to the man in  _ ‘The Monarch’ _ . The figure - the not-Barnabas - in the painting in front of him does look like him, though a crude, uncanny imitation whose face isn’t quite the right shape and whose body doesn’t quite look right in comparison to the other paintings of him. The caption says that the kneeling figure is Earnest himself, though it could easily be interpreted either way. Elias stares at it for a good few minutes, lost in his own anger and discomfort towards the image. It’s only when someone stands beside him in order to start taking pictures of ‘ _ The Monarch _ ’ that he moves on, making the conscious decision not to look up at it as he walks away.

From here, there is a corridor leading to a smaller room, which the sign on the wall next to it describes as a  _ ‘collection of letters sent to and from Benjamin Earnest in the most active period of his career’.  _ Even without using his powers, Elias knows he is about to see several letters from Barnabas and he swallows down the strange, empty feeling that starts to rise as he enters. He doesn’t  _ have  _ to read every letter individually, but he does anyway - partially to avoid giving himself a headache and partially out of the strange, sentimental urge that’s drawing him towards the letters with the familiar, cursive handwriting of Barnabas Bennett inked over the paper.

There are several between Earnest and noblemen that he’d taken commissions from, as well as a small gallery at the time who’d wanted to display his art (and who he’d sent a rather harsh letter of refusal to in return). The first letter to mention Barnabas Bennett is the first in a series sent between the two in 1817, the year before the Magnus Institute had opened. Elias inhales deeply, as a form of mental preparation, before looking down at the first of the letters through the glass casing and starting to read.

\--

_ ‘Barnabas Bennett, _

_ I hope this letter finds you in good health. _

_ Over the last six years, I have come to understand that your relationship with Jonah Magnus is a close one, and it would be hypocritical of me to say that I disapproved of it considering my own affairs with him. I am aware that you think your feelings for him are strong, but I believe it to be in all of our best interests for me to inform you now that what you feel is false. I, unlike my love, see through your cheap facade and recognise who, and what, you truly are. I do not send this letter to injure or belittle you, as from observing your actions and reading the letters you have sent to Jonah (albeit without his permission) I have come to the conclusion that you are unaware of your own nature.  _

_ Again, I would like to clarify that I do not say this out of malice, but out of my love for Jonah Magnus and my desire to keep him protected from any harm you may wish to inflict upon him. Please take action against your own supposed feelings, before I am forced to do so myself. Repent of your sins, and my love shall surely forgive you. _ _   
_ _ Yours, _

_ Benjamin Earnest’ _

_ … _

_ ‘Benjamin Earnest, _

_ I would say that I hope this letter finds you in good health, but deception is not an activity I often indulge in. I do not appreciate your letter and I fail to understand exactly how you have come to this conclusion. I have known Jonah Magnus for over a decade and have been a member of his close circle for a significant portion of that time. At the risk of sounding jealous, I would like to remind you that I have been in contact with him far longer than you have, and our relationship spans longer than your time knowing him. Regardless of this, however, my feelings for him are none of your business, and I see no reason to be looking into affairs that are not your own. _

_ As for your belief in my supposed ‘nature’, it is with the best intentions that I encourage you to seek medical help as I fear you may be suffering from some sort of perverse delusion, perhaps as a result of your ever-apparent jealousy of mine and Jonah’s relationship. Alongside the disturbing nature of many of your paintings, this letter is cause for increasing concern and, while I hardly take pleasure in any sort of correspondence with you, I would not like to see you succumb to any type of illness, whether it be mental or otherwise.  _

_ I know that you love Jonah dearly, though I cannot condone your ways of expressing that love, and if you are so worried for his safety, as your letter suggests, you should cease contact with him as soon as possible. If your mental state improves I may show more sympathy, but for now I believe that the only way forward for you is to seek psychological treatment. If you asked nicely, I am sure Jonah would be willing to put you in contact with a suitable doctor. _

_ Please refrain from responding. I do not take kindly to your letters and shall not be so forgiving in future. _

_ Yours, _

_ Barnabas Bennett.’ _

_... _

_ ‘Barnabas, _

_ Since you seem to have no interest in formalities or polite behaviour, I shall follow your example. _

_ I also do not hope that my letter finds you in good health; to be frank, I do not believe something of your ilk can be in good health. While I am sure you find me rude and disagreeable, your actions and very nature are far more so and I do not wish to be forced to take action against you. You are not as clever as you think, Barnabas, and your previous message has only led me to believe that whatever delusion you think I may be experiencing is most likely a projection of your own inhumanity. _

_ I have heard, from reading your letters to my love, of the institute currently being set up in Edinburgh. If these letters are true, and Jonah is, in fact, looking into instances of the supernatural, I would suggest leaving his side for your own safety. I do not know what you are, but I believe that if his research were to prove successful, your life would be at risk and I would take no action in order to stop Jonah from protecting himself and his loved ones.  _

_ I do not know how merciful my love will be when he discovers what you are, Barnabas. I can only hope, for your sake, that he will let you go with your life. _

_ Yours, _

_ Benjamin Earnest.’ _

_... _

_ ‘Benjamin, _

_ This is getting out of hand. You claim to know Jonah, to love and adore him, and yet you fail to understand him in even the most basic sense. I, like many others, am involved in the research and recording of instances of the supernatural and have been since the idea of the Institute was first conceived. It is, in all honesty, astounding that you can declare yourself Jonah's lover when the version of him you dote on is a fictionalised caricature of him. For lack of better phrasing, Benjamin, it is embarrassing to witness. _

_ While I cannot hope to understand what you mean when you refer to me as ‘inhuman’, I can understand the motivation behind it. You are jealous of me, of how closely Jonah holds me in his life. Believe me, you are not the first of Jonah’s lovers that have envied the genuine romantic connection between us (as opposed to a mere sexual one), and you are also not the first to have made their envy known to me. You are, however, the first to purposefully vilify me in the public eye in what I can only assume is an attempt to soil my name. Your artwork is disturbing and, quite frankly, disgusting, and I cannot deny my genuine hatred for the manner in which you have portrayed me in some of your work. Though more recently, I feel you have intentionally taunted me, with your strange portrayals of myself as you in positions of weakness and submission before my beloved. I wish I could say that I respect your talent as an artist, but when your talent is used to produce such vile creations I can only detest it, just as I have come to detest the name attached to them. _

_ As for the hostile remarks you made in your last letter, I can only hope that these, too, are an expression of your own jealousy rather than genuine threats against my person. I had hoped that your bitterness towards me would not reach the extent of violent behaviour, but I am now not so sure and shall be taking action in order to protect and defend myself from any potential attacks you may make against me. _

_ This is the last time I shall be this courteous with you, Benjamin. I refuse to keep repeating myself and if you are not careful I will consider contacting the authorities to protect both myself and Jonah from this ridiculous behaviour. _

_ Yours, _

_ Barnabas Bennett.  _

_... _

_ ‘You know as well as I, Barnabas, that you only tell these lies to convince yourself of a truth that you have fabricated. You are not human. I do not need years of research or prior knowledge to know this, and if you continue to make attempts to “protect Jonah” from me I shall only interpret it as a bid to save yourself now that you have been exposed. If you have not ceased contact with my love by the end of this month (December 1817) I shall have no choice but to force you to do so. _

_ I do not want to hurt you, Barnabas. I want to cling onto my humanity just as much as you claim to cling to yours. But some things cannot be forgiven, and I fear that even my love’s mercy has its limits. I will make it quick and painless if I must, but I would rather it not get to that. This is your final warning, whatever you may be.’ _

_ \-- _

Elias would be lying if he were to say that the letter (or rather, the rather threatening note) doesn’t make him angry. At the time he had still been researching the entities, not yet a powerful enough avatar of the eye to Know these things, and the only time Barnabas had made him aware of these threats was when he’d visited for his twenty-sixth birthday near the middle of the month. He’d pulled him aside after dinner and mentioned a series of threats he had received (though he hadn’t specified who they were from), asking for a place to stay until the end of the month. He had, of course, agreed, and come the start of January Barnabas Bennett was both safe and extremely sexually active. Elias smiles at the memory- he remembers it being an excellent stress reliever as the official founding of the Magnus Institute grew closer and closer. 

The next letter is one he remembers watching Barnabas slide into an envelope and hand to the butler to send off. He hadn’t assumed anything of it at the time, but Elias mentally kicks himself for having not found out sooner as he reads his lover’s writing, tracing the shape of the letters with his finger through the glass.

_... _

  
  


‘ _ Benjamin Earnest, _

_ As of this Thursday (December 18th, 1817) I have spoken with local authorities regarding your most recent letters. Needless to say, they share my concern for my safety and shall be taking the appropriate measures to ensure mine and my beloved’s wellbeing. For now, I am staying with a friend - though I shall not say who or where. I only tell you this so that you do not waste your time attempting to find me in my home from which I have sent my other letters. If I were you I would lay low and consider the consequences of your actions. I would tell you to pray, but somehow I doubt God has any forgiveness left in him for you. _

_ I do not wish to continue our correspondence. I hope that you find peace someday, Benjamin, I really do. In the meantime, however, I have no need for niceties and I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that you burn in Hell where you belong. _

_ Yours, _ _   
_ _ Barnabas Bennett.’ _

_... _

_ ‘My dearest Barnabas, _

_ I truly hope these last few months have treated you well, and I would like to express my sincerest apologies for my language and manner in my most recent letters to you. I have left it several months before writing this, in the hopes that it would allow some of the animosity between us to fade; however, if it has not then I cannot find it in me to blame you. _

_ While I am unsure whether it would make much difference on your end, I would like to clarify that I did not make any attempts to hunt you down or hurt you, and the threats that I sent you were empty promises that I never planned to fulfil. I am not a violent person, Barnabas, and these words came from a place of anger and, I admit, jealousy, rather than having any actual malice. Of course, I doubt this shall be enough to change your opinion of me, so I would like to inform you that I did, in fact, follow your advice from you letter to me in September and have made contact with a doctor of psychology. I am working through my own personal issues and believe I am no longer in the same state of mind that I had been when I wrote to you last. I do not expect your friendship out of this apology, but I do hope that the hostility between us will at least partially disappear.  _

_ In order to prove my sincerity, I would like to invite you to dinner at my home in Glasgow next month. I would like to show to you that my intentions are pure and I hold no ulterior motives. If it makes you feel more comfortable I shall permit you to carry a weapon, though preferably a bladed one as I would not want my home to be ruined through improper use of a firearm. Naturally, I understand if you choose to turn down this invitation. However, if you are open to second chances, as am I, please respond to this letter as soon as possible. _

_ I am eager to hear from you and I hope that my apology has been accepted.  _

_ Your faithful servant, _ _   
_ _ Benjamin Earnest.’ _

_ \-- _

It was in March of 1818, exactly four weeks before The Magnus Institute officially opened its doors, That Jonah finally cut off contact with Benjamin Earnest.

It was late in the evening when it happened: he was reading some letters sent regarding the institute’s funding in his study when a maid had knocked on his door and informed him that Barnabas Bennett had come to see him. It was several weeks since they had last been together and Jonah quickly made his way downstairs, half expecting his beloved to pull him into a passionate kiss the moment they locked eyes. Much to his horror, he was instead greeted by the sight of his beloved sitting on a sofa in the living room, distraught and dishevelled from the wind and rain. Tears rolled down his ruddy cheeks and blood dripped from a long thin cut running along his jawline.

“Barnabas!” Jonah ran to his side, kneeling down in front of him to inspect the wound, “Barnabas, how- what… are you alright?”

Barnabas’ gazed into his eyes, his own wide and glistening as he inhaled shakily, voice clearly hoarse from crying. “Jonah…” he whimpered, “Jonah, it was the painter. Benjamin Earnest, he  _ attacked _ me, he just reached over the dinner table and-”

Jonah hushed him softly, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and placing it over the wound to stop the bleeding. “Darling,” he said gently, “Darling, slow down, slow down… We’ll get you cleaned up and draw you a hot bath. When you’ve calmed down you can tell me everything, hm?”

Barnabas nodded shakily as he helped him to his feet, keeping the handkerchief pressed to the wound on his face as he led him upstairs. He continued to sob as they reached Jonah’s bedroom, where he practically collapsed onto the bed, needing to be propped up on some pillows to stay upright. The wound was still bleeding and Jonah pulled the handkerchief away to see that the cut was no insignificant graze; it wasn’t overly deep, but the cut continued under his skin along his face, resulting in a flap of skin on his face that could be lifted up. It was as if someone had tried to slice off the top layer of flesh, like carving a slice of meat. Jonah frowned as he looked at it. He’d seen far worse, but somehow the nature of the injury, as well as the knowledge of who had inflicted it, made him feel sick to his stomach.

They were both lucky that he had fairly decent knowledge of first aid. Barnabas cried quietly and flinched at his touch as he cleaned the wound with a wet, soapy cloth, the bowl of water slowly turning red as he rinsed out the rag. The stitches took far longer than cleaning the wound had, and Jonah couldn’t help but feel bad as his lover whimpered at the sensation of the needle pushing through his bruised and swollen flesh. By the time the final stitch was finished and Jonah had cut the piece of thread Barnabas looked sickly and pale, his eyes red and blotchy from crying. He cleaned off his hands before cupping his cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Take a bath, love,” he told him, “Once you’ve warmed up you can tell me what happened, hm?”

Barnabas shook his head, hissing in pain. “No,” he said, “No, I can’t wait any longer, Jonah.”

“... Are you sure, Barnabas?”

“Yes.”

Jonah sighed, gathering the blankets and wrapping them around Barnabas to keep him warm. He pressed another kiss to the corner of his lips before taking his hands in his own. “Go on then, darling,” he said, “Tell me what happened.”

“The threatening letters I received last year were from Benjamin Earnest,” he stated, “I didn’t tell you at the time because I didn’t want to cause you extra stress. I know how busy you have been recently, Jonah and I feared that telling you the exacts of my predicament would result in you worrying too much for me when you should have been focussing on opening your institute. He sent a note in December threatening my life, beloved, claiming that I wasn’t  _ human,  _ that this was his way of protecting you. Of course, I ended up notifying local authorities and I stayed with you for safety. I heard nothing from him in that month, not did he at any point threaten me once I returned home. In fact, by February I felt safe again, I felt like I could actually leave my home without fear that he would be there waiting for me. At the end of February, I hadn’t heard from him for over two whole months, and I thought it was over, that Benjamin was finally going to leave me - leave the both of us - alone. That was when I received the invitation.

You have to understand, Jonah, he seemed so genuinely apologetic in that letter. He told me he had been seeing a doctor as I had suggested and explained that I was under no obligation to forgive him. He claimed that his previous letters had merely been empty threats which he had no intention of fulfilling, but still understood what he had done wrong and seemed to be legitimately sorry. To prove his remorse he invited me to dinner. I am not an idiot, Jonah - usually I wouldn’t have even  _ considered  _ accepting such an invite but… well, he told me I could bring a weapon. I know, it’s immature of me, but I felt that with the added protection of a blade I would be safe. A part of me even considered bringing a weapon with the intention of using it regardless of what he did to me - as a sort of revenge. So, I accepted his invitation.

I should have left the moment I got there, Jonah. On the wall as I entered was another of those dreadful paintings- though it was different to the ones I’d seen at his dinner parties. It was far more violent, far more…  _ sick _ . It was of you, as always, and the horrible amalgamations of mine and his image were laying by your feet, bloody and broken and not quite right. I couldn’t stop looking at it, even though it made me sick. I barely had an appetite when Benjamin greeted me and led me into the dining room to eat, but I did my best to remain polite. My host seemed amicable enough, apologising profusely for his conduct in his letters last year. The food itself was nice enough - certainly nothing special but I was hardly there for the meal.

We managed to make it to the end of the first course before the conversation strayed to the topic of my relationship with you, Jonah. He asked how you had been, since he hadn’t spoken to you since your last commission, and I said that you had been doing just fine without his company. I felt satisfied saying that, seeing how the smile on his face turned from genuine to forced and the grip on his wine glass tightened as the words left my mouth. I would have thought that he’d get the hint that I wasn’t in the mood to talk about you, but he continued anyway. I’ve never had the displeasure of speaking with him in real life about you. I should hope that I never do in the future, as the conversation became… unsuitable for a formal setting rather fast. I didn’t want to be rude to my host, not after he had gone to so much trouble to make me feel welcome. I will admit that I gripped the dagger I had brought tighter when he spoke of you in such a crude way. Perhaps it was simply jealousy, but I already knew that his feelings for you are… unhealthy to say the least, and I would not be surprised if he was purposefully trying to get a rise out of me. 

When the main course arrived he, thankfully, changed the subject. If I had not left already, that was when I should have. He looked up from his food to ask me how I was finding my own, Jonah, and in that moment, he addressed me with his own name. At first I thought of it as a simple mistake; perhaps he’d had a glass of wine too many. But then it happened again, and again until I was filled with the most overwhelming sense of dread whenever he opened his mouth, for every time he did, he would look me dead in the eye and call me “Benjamin”. In all honesty, what happened next was partially my fault. I shouldn't have expected things to end well after that.

The table was cleared after the main course and I was more than ready to refuse dessert in order to leave. That was when he opened his mouth again, giving me a strange, uncanny smile that failed to reach his eyes.

“Benjamin,” he said to me, “I trust you brought a weapon with you?” I should not have nodded, but I did. I wanted to yell at him, to brandish the blade in his face and demand that he use my name when addressing me… But I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t. Either way, I simply nodded and took out the dagger that I had brought for protection and placed it atop the table between us. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands slowly as if he were inspecting it. “Thank you, Benjamin,” he told me, “I believe this will suffice.”

I was already barely processing what was happening as it was. He must have put me in some sort of trance, Jonah, for when Benjamin got up from his seat and launched himself over the table I couldn't get up and run…" 

Barnabas' voice trailed off, his skin even paler than it already was. His eyes brimmed with tears once more and Jonah wrapped an am around him, hushing him gently and holding him closer. "Take your time, darling," he said softly, and his lover nodded shakily, inhaling deeply and sharply before continuing.

"When he launched himself at me over the table, it was like he was several seconds ahead of me. By the time I screamed he was already on top of me, the dagger pressed against the side of my face. The cool metal dug into my skin and I let out the most unearthly cry of pain, that I cannot deny. I lifted my arms to push against him, but by the time he fell he'd all cut deep into my flesh, cutting into it I can only assume in an attempt to kill me. 

Once he was on the floor I grabbed the blade from his hand and stabbed him as hard as I could in the stomach, but I didn't stay long enough to watch him bleed. I purely meant to hinder him while I made my escape, though I am sure the injury I gave him was far more so than the one he gave to me.

As I ran from that place, I glanced up at the painting in the hallway, the one of the two figures that were not me. Strangely enough, in that moment, when I looked at that image… I could tell who was meant to be who. It was like the painting had been fixed while we were at dinner, and looking at it then I felt none of the fear that I had felt earlier. Of course, that could have just been a result of the pain, but… I find it so strange.

He called out after me, still addressing him with his name, as I ran. I left the knife there, Jonah, and I can only imagine what will happen to me when the authorities get involved. I managed to meet a young man as I reached the main street attached to Earnest's house, who was transporting goods this way and was willing to let me ride in the back of his cart. He offered me a handkerchief to stop the bleeding but it didn't seem to do much good, but I couldn't ask much more of him than I already had. He dropped me off a ten minute walk from here, and I walked the rest of the way in the rain.

Jonah, I don't know  _ what _ Earnest planned to do with me if I had not run. I assume he would have murdered me but… something about that doesn't seem right. He could have easily killed me another way- slit my throat or poisoned my food, perhaps. Why go for my face? And the name, why did he call me by his own name…? Either way, Jonah, you  _ must _ promise me you will cut off contact with that man. This isn't about your intimacy with him, this isn't just jealousy anymore. Benjamin Earnest is dangerous, darling, and I don't know how I would forgive myself if he were to do something like this to you."

Jonah sat in silence for a few moments, holding Barnabas' shivering form in his arms. He reached up to wipe the tears from his face, and his lover's bottom lip quivered before he let out a whimper. Jonah sighed, allowing him to bury his face in his shoulder and break down into loud, shaky sobs, hushing him softly and stroking his hair. In any other situation he would have simply comforted him, kissed him and told him it would all turn out alright. Yet there was something else, a strange satisfaction in him that relished Barnabas' story, and longed for more of the same, twisted fear that his lover felt as he recounted that night's events.

He helped Barnabas into the bath that had been drawn for him, which was (thankfully) still warm, staying by his side as he warmed up in silence. Neither of them exchanged any words for the rest of the night, and Jonah fell asleep with Barnabas passed out in his arms just as the first rays of sunlight were peeking through the gaps between his curtains.

\--

Elias stuffs his hands in his pockets so no-one can see him clenching his fists. He shouldn’t really be this angry, not over something that had happened nearly two-hundred years ago. If anything, he should be grateful - that incident had been a learning curve for him, the one that, subconsciously, had made him curious about his lover’s survival skills and resulted in him letting him die at the hands of the Lonely. At the time he hadn’t been strong enough for it to click that the Stranger had been involved, and he mentally kicks himself for it as he reads through the final letters sent between Benjamin Earnest and Barnabas Bennett. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been when he leaves that section of the gallery, turning the corner to look at the final pieces in the exhibition. There are two of them: oil paintings no bigger than A1 in size. Elias can barely bring himself to look at the first; he can’t tell much from Looking at it, but the one thing he immediately Knows is that it had been the same painting hanging in the artist’s hallway the night he had attacked Barnabas Bennett. Jonah Magnus stands in the centre of the painting, a scalpel in one hand and a bloodied handkerchief in the other. He’s wearing a wreath of golden leaves around his head, and a ghostly white halo shines from behind him. Just as it had been described, there are two figures at his feet. Just as they had been when his lover had escaped, one of them is very obviously Barnabas and the other is Benjamin Earnest himself. Despite the painting having been made prior to their dinner together, there is a long, thin scar along Barnabas’ jaw, the one that had formed after the injury he’d abstained that night had healed. The painting itself is dated from 1818 and is entitled ‘ _ Apologies _ ’. The name only makes Elias feel more uneasy, and the caption explains that it was likely made after the painter’s dinner with Bennett - though historians and curators had struggled to figure out what it had meant.

The final painting is a simple portrait, far less dramatic than the gory, biblical scenes in the rest of Benjamin Earnest’s work. It’s a painting of Barnabas Bennett, sat amongst the wild heather that Elias immediately recognises from the overgrown grounds of Moorland House. He’s smiling, a book in hand, and the scar along his jawline is a dark pink etched into his pale skin. The painting is set in summer (as the freckles that dot Barnabas’ nose and cheeks in the image only came out after he’d been in the sun for a while) but Elias knows, without any need for omniscience, that Earnest had not painted his subject from life. The Barnabas in the painting smiles, a warm, genuine smile that shows the dimples in his cheeks and makes the skin around his eyes crinkle. Elias loses himself in the painting for a while, remembering the evenings he’d spent with his lover amongst the overgrown heather of Mordecai Lukas’ estate, spending hours together away from the prying eyes of other guests. The love he’d felt for Barnabas then had been gentle and sweet, so simple and yet so  _ perfect _ .

Somewhere in the back of his head, Elias knows he still loves him, still holds him just as dearly as he had nearly two centuries ago. He loves Peter too, of course - but what he feels for him is a completely different sort of love than the one he felt (and still feels) for Barnabas Bennett. It’s real, yes, but it’s rough and turbulent and constantly on the brink of… something. Their relationship feels like a wooden boat in the middle of a storm, being thrashed about with equal chances of its survival and destruction - a fitting metaphor, really. There’s also the war between them, the unspoken contest that neither of them have the guts to bring up. Between the kissing and the fighting, the months of silence, the passionate make-up sex and the (arguably even more passionate) post-divorce sex, there’s an ever-present struggle for power between them. When Peter leaves there’s a definite loneliness to it, and Elias often finds himself dreading having to wake up to find his (currently ex-) husband gone with no prior warning. In return for that loneliness, Elias watches him. Sometimes it’s through the eyes of the Tundra’s crew, sometimes it’s through Peter’s own eyes. Sometimes it’s through the small eye shape he’d etched into the metal frame of his ex-husband’s bed with a pen-knife. It only seems fair, and he knows that the unceasing sensation of being watched only detracts from the loneliness that Peter strives so hard to achieve. Elias often finds himself wondering why he stays with Peter. He doesn’t want to admit it to himself - that in his state of complete inhumanity, this is the closest he’ll ever feel to how he felt with Barnabas Bennett - so he won’t. 

He doesn’t regret leaving Barnabas to die. But he does miss him, and he definitely still loves him - or at least, he loves him as much as he can now that his capacity for normal human emotions has become somewhat non-existent. He wonders, in that moment, how he would feel if Peter Lukas would die. Would he be lonely? Would he miss him? Would he simply not care and pretend his on-and-off husband of nearly twenty years had never existed? He’s not sure, though a part of him hopes there’s no longer enough humanity in him for it to matter.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts as he feels Peter’s hand on his shoulder, surprisingly gentle as he also looks up at the painting of Barnabas Bennett.

“My condolences,” he says, and Elias raises his brow in confusion.

“Sorry?”

Peter nods down at the caption underneath the painting. “The painting,” he says, “It’s called ‘ _ My Condolences’. _ ”

Elias looks down and, sure enough, the letters on the captions spell out ‘ _ My Condolences’,  _ and the date beneath it read 1824 - the year Barnabas Bennett fell to the Lonely and the year that Jonah Magnus claimed his bones and placed them in his office, where they would be kept by his beloved (and all of his subsequent iterations) for the next two centuries. The title causes an aching in Elias’ chest and a tightening in his throat, and he finds himself breathing deeply to compose himself before looking up at Peter and speaking. “We should head home now,” he says curtly, “I’d like to avoid the rush hour if at all possible.”

Peter just chuckles, patting his shoulder before turning around to leave. He doesn’t wait for Elias as he exits the exhibition, who takes one last look at the smiling face of the man he loved… of the man he  _ loves,  _ before following suit.

He throws the ticket to the exhibition away in the first bin he sees, much to his ex-husband’s amusement, but the leaflet stays safely tucked away in his pocket, folded over so that when Elias takes it out he’ll be greeted by the warm, brown eyes of Barnabas Bennett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! if u enjoyed this please leave comments + kudos!!


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